


hard to control when it begins

by howtoalphagood



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, im so sorry, season 2 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 04:02:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howtoalphagood/pseuds/howtoalphagood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing that first hits him is not, in fact, the love leaking out of Lydia's every pore, but the pungent stench of sadness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hard to control when it begins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iokangel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iokangel/gifts).



> this hit me really hard when i rewatched the finale and saw the tears on stiles's face as lydia ran to hug jackson. i wrote this immediately after, so... for christine because she hates stackson :)

The thing that first hits him is not, in fact, the love leaking out of Lydia's every pore, but the pungent stench of sadness. It's not that difficult to tell what emotions are. Damp and soggy means sadness. What kind of sadness is harder to tell. Rejection is almost a moldy, burnt smell. Horror is copper-thick and quite like pain. But grief, grief and loss are different altogether. They smell like death; they smell like someone who lies in a coffin, someone who's heart doesn't beat and limbs don't move.

Love is sickly sweet; cherry blossom and honey. Lydia always smells like that, but it's different now. It's suffocating. He loves her back, he thinks. Love is an unfamiliar concept. A distant shadow that he strives to reach, but never quite does. He can watch as the shadow's darkness plays across his fingertips, but he cannot truly touch it. He watches as it dances further away with the sun. Maybe, if love is not immovable, it is not worth the breath spent in endless sonnets.

He spends a lot of time with Lydia, after. She's scared to let him go; let him out of her sight. She thinks love will only last if they're together. But it's not about love anymore because he's a werewolf. He's strong and powerful, he's what he's always wanted to be. Jackson Whittemore. He knows his name, but he doesn't know himself. He knows about himself, but he can't seem to discover his core. What he wants, what he is. He has no ambitions and no drive, so he goes on dates with Lydia. He gets pity-passed through sophomore year, and then it's summer.

It's summer and everything smells like sweat and hormones and no one is safe. Lydia doesn't know what to do anymore; doesn't know why Jackson won't touch her and she doesn't know why he wants to spend time with the pack when she's right there, "Jackson, what more do you want from me? I'm giving you everything I have, why can't you just be _happy_?"

He can't be happy so that means he's angry. He always feels his anger, he always smells it. He wonders if it would've been better if he was human. If the stench of desire and hatred wasn't ingrained into his mind. But no, he decides he likes his newfound power. He likes it when Stilinski cowers when he threatens him now. He likes it when his fangs drop down and Stilinski goes to the floor. He likes it even better when he digs his claws into the lockers on each side of his head; he likes it a lot when Stiles'll like his lips before coming up with a comment that hits Jackson in the pride. 

The best part is when he can barely control the urge to sink his elongated teeth into the tendons before him. Instead, he'll bite at the newly wet lips until they bleed, and he'll swallow every moan and gasp like air. He doesn't love it, can't love it, so he likes it a lot when they rock their hips together. Jackson's claws will trap Stiles's hands to the lockers and his fangs will pin his neck to the metal and he'll rock and **twist** until it starts to hurt. And the hurt fuels them 'til the end.

He figures that if he can't love, then hate is the next best thing.

After all, he doesn't have anybody. And that's his fault.


End file.
